Escape to The Capitol
by tiny fawkes
Summary: Cassidy Fairfield is fed up with life in the oppressive District 10. She plots her escape and hopes to reach the elusive District 13, but her plans are derailed when she's caught by Titus Rooke, an affluent, respected Capitol citizen. Nothing is certain anymore for the two young adults, but as they head towards the heart of Panem, they find that their paths are undeniably linked.


Chapter 1: Cassidy

The ground burns beneath my feet. The hand-me-down shoes I've been gifted are two sizes too big, and have tripped me up at least three times in the past few minutes that I've been walking. The soles have been shredded after years of hard work on the rugged planes of District 10. It's here that all of the Capitol's meat is sourced. We deal in livestock. And hunger. Because by feeding the wealthy denizens of the Capitol, the food is taken out of our mouths.

But I can't focus on thoughts like this as I make my way home, it hurts too much. Instead my attention turns to the prickling heat of the sun on the back of my neck. My skin is past burning now, I bear the mark of a rancher- deep golden weather-beaten skin. I don't mind much, it's probably a blessing actually because now I don't need to buy the expensive salve they sell at the general store in town.

No, my money is much better spent on keeping my mother well fed. We only have each other now, since my father…passed. It was ten years ago. I was only six but I remember it well. Riding into the square bareback on my family's only luxury- a young mustang who had wandered onto our ranch. That's when I saw them. Three surly looking peacekeepers and my father, lying broken on the scorched earth. One peacekeeper, Flint, was especially angry. He was brandishing a stiff leather whip, standard issue for any self-respecting bully. But there was something about this whip that made my heart beat louder. A sickeningly bright red liquid dripped from its tail.

Well, I may have been young but I wasn't stupid. I knew my father would never walk through our front door again. Never teach me how to herd the cattle. Never sing me a gentle prairie song as I laced his boots. His crime was stealing some of the beef that he'd butchered. It was a common act among the men of the District, to stow some meat to feed their families. It was a crime that usually went unpunished. Not that day. My father was there and then he was gone. His life snuffed out by the forces that oppress instead of protect us.

My eyes are stinging as I reach the outskirts of my village. I'm expecting the lowing of the cattle to seep into my head and drown out my thoughts.

But it's silent, apart from the innocent yelps of the children playing in the dust. It's been a tough summer for the animals here. Dryer and hotter than anyone can remember, the grass is barely more than a few brown tufts in the earth. My heart sinks as the reality dawns on me. If our cows don't eat, we don't either. It's this final thought that wipes any happiness from me.

I look around me and I finally see what my mother sees. About twenty rickety little houses are scattered on the barren plane I call home. There's not much apart from the schoolhouse, around a dozen butchers, the general store and the Justice Building. It stands just above the North field. A cold, dilapidated stone carcass. Once used for official business, it now stands as the peacekeepers headquarters. And of course there's the livestock. Herds of cattle roam freely around the District, caught only when they're to be slaughtered. There's some wild horses too, but they don't come near the town. I suppose the clamor of the slaughterhouses drives them away, up onto the grassy verges on the boundaries of District 10.

They won't get out though, no-one does.

Not since the fences were erected after The Dark Days. Ten feet tall and topped with barbed wire, they've been a successful deterrent for many years. Thwarting the escape attempts of rebels and innocents alike. People driven mad by the constant hunger and brutality enforced by the Capitol.

I realise that I've stopped walking and now stand at the entrance to the only shop which hasn't been barricaded with thin steel shutters. I've been working for the best part of ten hours and while I've been reminiscing on my not-too-rosy past, the sun has had enough and is on a slow descent towards the ground. It's casting a faint orange glow across the shop fronts and barns all around me. I take in this precious moment of stillness. It's quiet, no children or bustling adults, just…quiet. I know why but I like to pretend that they've all been called in for their dinner. A feast of fine cheeses followed by beef bourguignon. Even milkshakes for dessert. A laugh escapes my mouth as this fantasy shatters before me. Truckloads of peacekeepers flood into the town square. One catches my eye and leers at me. Disgusted, I turn and walk into the store and am greeted by the cries of my aunt Eliza.

"Cassidy! Cassidy! Girl why aren't you at home? You know what's happening tomorrow don't you? Well? Cassidy! You even listening to a word I'm sayin?" she yells.

I'm jolted from my reverie. There was something familiar in that peacekeepers eyes. I'm not in the mood for a shouting match with my aunt, so I reply in what I believe is a measured voice,

"Yes Eliza, I'm perfectly aware that tomorrow two bewildered children will be plucked from the relative safety of their homes, forced into the Capitol and then into some ungodly arena where they will almost certainly die at the hands of a _superior_ Career."

My voice cracks as I finish my rant. I can tell I've gone too far as my normally raucous aunt is now silent. She's collapsed onto the wooden stool propped against the shop counter. Her piercing blue eyes are misty with unshed tears and her mouth is pinched into a grimace. Her son was a tribute in The Hunger Games three years ago. He died in the bloodbath on the first day and as much as she denies it, his death weighs down on her shoulders every day, her mind taken over by memories of the boy she'd never see grown up.

I regret spilling my thoughts in front of my aunt, but I don't regret thinking them. I cross over to where she sits, quiet as the mice that scurry under the rotting floorboards, and embrace her. She's plump after years of being a butcher's wife so my arms can't quite reach all the way around her waist, but she returns my heartfelt hug without hesitation. I bury my face in her cotton dress and murmur an apology,

"I'm sorry…I didn't mean it aunty El."

As I speak I inhale the scents surrounding my aunt. Mostly I can smell the bitter dust that swirls throughout the District, but there's something else too. Perfume. It's sweet and flowery, like the Bergamot that blooms on the prairie floor in the spring. It's a sweet smell, but it's expensive. Too expensive for any shop owner in the District.

"The perfume, where did you get it?" I question her.

She lets go of me and a smile tugs at the corners of her lips,

"Let's just say that the mayor's wife has more than enough to ever notice one bottle missing."

She starts giggling and for a moment she looks almost youthful. I can't help but grin back at her. She turns and starts to rummage through the shelves cluttered with bottles and various remedies. The bottle that she plucks from the chaos is so perfect that my breath catches in my throat. I'm not used to such luxury, so it comes as a surprise to see something so special up close. The glass is tinted an odd shade of green, almost blue, and it catches the light to reveal its contents- a shimmery liquid that permeates the air around us.

"Take it. You can put some on tomorrow. Might make you feel a little better, knowing we're thinking of you."

The sound of my aunts voice wavering sends me into a panic. I want to get away from her, from this, it's all too much right now. I thank her and run out of the shop. Against my better judgement I decide to head up to our ranch through the alleyways that criss-cross behind the shops. It's dark now and without the white floodlights from the square I'm finding it hard to see anything.

Eventually I see the flickering candle light spilling from the window of my house. I know what's waiting for me but I'm too tired to worry. I slip through the back door and up the stairs but their age betrays me as one particularly load creak reverberates through the tiny building. My mother stirs in the living room and her voice, worn thin by hours of crying, reaches me through the humid air.

"Cassidy? Honey is that you?"

I can't bear to see her face so I just whisper gently back to her,

"Yes ma, I'm off to bed, goodnight."

I don't wait around long enough to hear her reply, I just make my way to the small bed in the corner of our room and fall into it. I've had enough.


End file.
